“No, but you’ve taken unnecessary risks.”
>
“Is that not the nature of being an agent?”
Silence followed—a deadlock between two opponents who knew neither could win.
Still, Sloane’s laugh was a white flag of surrender. “So, tell me about your plans. Tell me how I can be of assistance.”
“Fitzroy Adair came to Blackborne. I need to know why.” Finlay mentioned the lord’s uncanny likeness to Mr Archer.
“Interesting. Miss Draper may have met the fellow and mistaken him for her beloved scoundrel.” While cradling his drink, Sloane tapped his signet ring against the glass, the tinkle being a means to gain Finlay’s undivided attention. “There is another possibility. One I hope you’ve considered.”
He knew exactly what Sloane was thinking. “Mr Archer has returned from India.” The thought had crossed Finlay’s mind on more than one occasion.
“Indeed.”
“And Dr Goodwin told him where he could find Jessica Draper.”
The mystery was as intricate as a spider’s web. Jessica was the helpless victim ensnared in a trap. The carefully spun threads led in opposite directions. It was impossible to predict where the perpetrator would strike. Still, each strand was fragile. A sharp tug and it would easily break.
“I will deal with Lord Adair.” The man was all pomp and pride. “Have D’Angelo check the passenger lists of any ships arriving from Calcutta in the last three months. See if Bartholomew Archer boarded a vessel.”
“And I suppose I’m to play nursemaid and tend to the patient,” Sloane mocked, disappointed at being relegated to house duties.
“No, my friend. While Jessica is in your care, you will use your interrogation skills. You will engage her in conversation and probe her mind. You will assemble every puzzle piece until you find what I need.”
“And what is that?”
“The truth.”
Chapter 9
Nerves held Sophia rigid. The rapid beating of her heart left her hands trembling. She rubbed the misted glass and peered through Mr Sloane’s carriage window as the vehicle drew to a stop outside the English Opera House. Numerous men in evening clothes stood beneath the lit portico, smoking cheroots, engaged in conversation. Only one man leant against the Corinthian column, radiating the strength of Samson. Only one man had the power to raze her defences to the ground.
Finlay Cole straightened and crossed the pavement. He reached the carriage before the footman left his perch. Their gazes locked as he opened the door.
“My lady.” He pulled down the steps and offered his hand.
She would always be his lady.
“Mr Cole. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long.” She slipped her hand into his, suppressed a sudden gasp of awareness for the merest touch set her body ablaze.
Eyes as dark as Erebus scanned her emerald green gown. “You look beautiful, Sophia.”
She stepped down to the pavement and smoothed her hand over her velvet skirt. “Someone told me green is the colour of hope, of springtime, of new beginnings.”
And I am wearing it for you, Finlay. For us.
“The women of Windlesham believe green has the power to heal.”
“I pray they’re right.”
He glanced at the ruby necklace gracing her throat. “What of red, Sophia?” he drawled. “What does red signify?”
“Red is daring. It speaks of a passion that cannot be tempered.” Red gave one the courage to be impulsive, bold. “I’m sure you know the rest.”
“Indeed.” He placed her hand in the crook of his arm and led her through the crowd. “Did you send a note to Lord Adair assuring him of your attendance?”